Strange Meeting
by Flora
Summary: Vir has a visitor. Day of the Dead missing scene.


Disclaimer: All these characters belong to JMS, I own nothing, I'm not making any money off of this, please don't sue.  
  
Author's Note: I just recently finished watching B5, and this little plot bunny demanded to be written. Huge thanks to Steph for the beta! :) Feedback and constructive criticism very much appreciated!  
  
"So it's like--the human holiday of Halloween?"  
  
Lennier had just given him a blank look. Vir supposed he shouldn't have expected the other to know much about Earth history. "It's like a festival. I think it started as a way to remember the dead, honor the souls of those who've gone before." Lennier had nodded. "Now they dress up in costumes and try to frighten people into giving them candy. They go around wearing masks and yell 'boo' at each other." The Minbari's curious expression turned to complete bafflement, and Vir spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "They're a strange people."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
They had gone their separate ways then, both tired and ready to sleep, and promised to meet for a drink the next morning. Vir was looking forward to talking to his friend again, and hearing all about the Rangers. Lennier had changed, that much was obvious. He was no longer the quiet attache who was content to fade into the background.  
  
Then again, neither was Vir.  
  
He'd worried about his friend, over the past few months. He knew some of the reasons Lennier had chosen the path he had, and guessed some of the others, but the two of them never really had a chance to sit down and have a long talk about it. Around the time Lennier had left, Vir had had--other things on his mind.  
  
Truly, the two of them hadn't had much of a chance for long talks at all in the past year, not like they used to. And Vir was hoping to change that soon. But right now, all he was really hoping for was a decent uninterrupted night's sleep . . .  
  
The lights flickered as the door whooshed open, and he paused in the doorway, looking around. There was no one here.  
  
Of course not. But as he stepped inside, the lights turned to an eerie red glow, bathing the walls the color of fresh blood. And the door hissed closed. "Boo!"  
  
He jumped about a foot in the air at the high-pitched exclamation, whirling around, not sure what he expected to find. Certainly not the late Emperor Cartagia, lounging artfully on his couch. Looking much as he had in life, arms outstretched, legs crossed, the baleful red light reflected off his white silk coat. His voice wavered on the verge of laughter as he waved his handkerchief at his stunned companion.  
  
"Oh, Cotto, you really should see the look on your face."  
  
Vir, for his part, was backing away slowly, stopping only when he hit the far wall.  
  
This was not happening.  
  
He had never been much of a believer in ghosts. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Memories, yes, visions brought on by sleep or drink and a tortured conscience . . . he knew all about those, first from watching Londo, and more recently from personal experience. He'd had nightmares before, about Cartagia, about Mr. Morden, about the Vorlons and a moment of terror that had eclipsed the sun. But he hadn't been drinking tonight. And he was reasonably certain he wasn't asleep.  
  
So what in the names of forty-nine gods was Emperor Cartagia doing on his couch?  
  
"What? Nothing to say?" His guest was sitting up now, one elegant foot tapping impatiently. "Have you nothing to say to your Emperor? Nothing to say in your own defense?"  
  
He had dreamed this moment so many times. Even now, almost a year later, the nightmares came almost weekly. Not that he'd ever told anyone. Who was there to tell? To most of this station, he was nothing more than a well- liked joke; on homeworld, he was simply a joke, or he was ignored. There was Lennier, but Lennier had his own problems, and he was reasonably certain the quietly spiritual Minbari would know nothing of what drives a man to kill another  
  
sentient being.  
  
And there was Londo. Londo, who probably knew without being told just how rare a peaceful, uninterrupted night's sleep had become. But he'd never mentioned it, since that last night on Narn. Only once or twice, when Londo thought he wasn't looking, he'd caught his friend watching him with a look in his eyes that struck a painful chord deep inside him.  
  
He'd seen guilt in Londo's eyes . . . not for Cartagia, for he knew Londo felt no remorse for that, would have felt nothing even if his own hands had struck the Emperor down. No, Londo's guilt was for Vir, and his sorrow, too. It was the sorrow of a parent watching a beloved child grow up, the recognition of a terrible pain he knew only too well but could do nothing to ease. It was nothing Londo would ever put into words, for that was not his way. He probably had no idea Vir could see what he was feeling.  
  
But Vir had seen. And he would never forget that look, or the confused mixture of love and pity and grief and joy it still stirred in his hearts, even on those nights when he lay awake shaking, so afraid to sleep, so afraid to dream, and so angry at Londo he didn't know what to think or feel.  
  
Right now there was only a kind of numbed shock. "What . . ." Without conscious direction, his legs tried to take him farther away from the couch, but the wall pressed cold against his back and there was nowhere to go. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"What am I *doing*?" The young Emperor sprang from his seat with remarkable energy for a dead man, with a piercing look that turned Vir cold inside. "Do you ask the sun why it rises in the morning? Do you ask the stars why they change with the seasons, or why the flowers bloom after the rain?" He came to a stop with his face inches from Vir's, his eyes bulging slightly. Vir didn't move, except for one hand, which groped slowly in search of something, anything, he might use as a weapon. "The *Emperor* does not need a *reason* to do as he pleases!" He spun away abruptly, gesturing grandly toward the ceiling as Vir's shaking hand closed around the neck of a bottle of brivari.  
  
"You aren't Emperor anymore," he said, very surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "And I have nothing to say to you. If you're even really here, and not just a figment of my imagination."  
  
"Capital idea!" Blinking, it took him a second to realize Cartagia was nodding at the bottle of brivari clutched in his hand. "Pour us a drink, why don't you?"  
  
Vir had never been a heavy drinker, although recently he'd developed a greater appreciation for Londo's brivari. Tonight, though, he was wishing he had something stronger. Cartagia snatched up the glass as he finished pouring, flopping elegantly onto the couch again, leaving Vir to go to the cupboard for another glass.  
  
The liquor burned going down his throat, warmth settling in his stomach as he turned around. Cartagia raised his glass. "Happy Day of the Dead, Vir Cotto."  
  
"You're not really here." Vir's legs suddenly decided to give way, and he sat down on the edge of a low table.  
  
"I'm not?" Reclining comfortably and propping his feet on the end of the couch, Cartagia raised a curious eyebrow. "I suppose you'll never really appreciate the great honor that has been bestowed upon you tonight, but then I shouldn't have expected such from you. I was going to look in on Mollari, you know. The old fool is enjoying all the attention he's getting far too much. But I hear he's--otherwise engaged." This was said with a leer, and a decidedly un-Imperial gesture with one hand. "One night of happiness, to balance a lifetime of suffering." His voice turned reflective as he glanced at Vir over the rim of his glass. "It has a certain *charming* symmetry, don't you agree?"  
  
If his throat hadn't suddenly refused to work, Vir might have asked the Emperor to explain his words. Was Londo entertaining ghosts as well? And what was he talking about, "a lifetime of suffering"? Finding himself suddenly incapable of speech, he watched as Cartagia drained the last of his brivari, holding out his glass in a languid gesture.  
  
When he realized Vir wasn't going to jump to refill his glass, he leaped to his feet, and for a moment Vir thought he was going to throw the glass against the wall. He knew Cartagia was dead. That was one fact he was absolutely sure of. He'd watched him take his last breath. But that didn't stop the familiar rush of fear at the Emperor's mercurial and often deadly temper.  
  
Cartagia set the glass down on the counter, straightening up and folding his arms, his smooth face set in a petulant scowl. "You simply don't *understand*, Cotto. And believe me, I am *trying* to be patient with your stupidity. It isn't easy."  
  
These last words sounded so much like something his uncle would say that he began to relax, just a fraction. Only for a second, before Cartagia was in his face, leaning over him, so close Vir could smell the liquor on his breath. "Do you know the penalty for your crimes? Do you know what I would have done to you, if my guards had not been such incompetent fools? You and that drunken imbecile Mollari, you would have *envied* that thrice-damned Narn his fate, before I was done with you!" His voice had risen to a shout, spit flying from his mouth.Vir stood frozen, trying not to hyperventilate. "Every inch of skin flayed from your bodies! Your fingers cut off, one by one, then your arms . . . your ears . . . your eyes! I would have taken *great* pleasure in seeing how long it took you to die, prolonged your suffering for weeks, months even. And then I would have had you castrated, and strangled with your own organs!" He  
  
brought one hand down on the edge of the table with a bang, and Vir jumped as he spun away, walking toward the counter.  
  
The pounding of Vir's hearts seemed loud in the sudden silence, as Cartagia poured himself another glass of brivari and downed half of it in one gulp. Then he turned, and held the bottle out toward his stunned host. "Another drink?"  
  
Vir stared at him, open-mouthed, for the space of a few heartbeats. Then he reached for the bottle, taking a long drink without bothering with a glass, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're dead." His voice was a little breathless, but not as shaky as he'd expected it to be. "You can't hurt me. Or Londo."  
  
"No," Cartagia said companionably, leaning against the counter. "I can't, more's the pity." He set his glass down with a wistful sigh. "Mollari, though . . . I don't have to do anything to him. Others have already taken care of that for me."  
  
The air in the room suddenly seemed cold, and Vir tried to hide a shiver. "What do you mean? What others?"  
  
"But that would spoil the *surprise*!" Cartagia flung both arms out with a manic grin. "I love surprises, don't you? And after all, it's only fair. *You* were certainly a surprise to *me*." Vir wrapped his arms around himself in an unconsciously defensive move. This isn't real, a scared little voice kept repeating, over and over, in the back of his mind. That didn't stop the feeling of icy fingers crawling up his spine, or the way the hairs on the back of his neck prickled strangely. "Of all the ways to die . . . it's just *embarrassing*, really. If Mollari had killed me . . . well, it still would have been a tragic loss for the Centauri people, but at least it would have been more dignified."  
  
Everyone knows you are incapable of doing anything really dangerous or subversive . . . Londo's words came back to him, and he swallowed hard. He'd taken that as one of Londo's casual insults at the time, never dreaming . . .  
  
"But it all works out in the end," Cartagia was saying, "for me at least, and that's all that matters. I can rest in peace, knowing that Mollari will spend the rest of his life suffering horribly for his crimes against me. And since you seem to be so fond of him, I imagine the next fifteen years or so will be *most* unpleasant for you as well."  
  
One night of happiness, to balance a lifetime of suffering . . . "The Shadows are gone." His mouth had gone dry, and he licked his lips nervously. "Mr. Morden is dead. The Centauri are moving forward now, and you can't do anything to ruin us anymore."  
  
"I don't have to." The Emperor spread his hands, going on in a delighted voice, "That's the beauty of it. I can't do anything, but I can see it. I can see it all . . ."  
  
"What do you see?" Vir demanded, in spite of himself.  
  
"Mollari is doomed," he said cheerfully. And it was Vir's turn to jump to his feet, feeling a rush of dizziness that might not have been completely caused by alcohol. He'd had enough of this . . . whatever it was. He didn't have to put up with intruders in his quarters, even ghosts of dead Emperors. Moving over to his StellarCom unit, he keyed the code for Security. If there was anyone here, Security would remove him, and leave Vir in peace. And Zack Allen would tell him if there was no one here, and then at least he would know for certain that he was going crazy.  
  
Squinting at his visitor, he wondered if this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke. It was  
  
rather dim in here, but he was still reasonably certain he'd seen Cartagia alive enough times that he wouldn't be easily fooled. Besides, who on this station--or anywhere else--would go to so much trouble to dress up as Emperor Cartagia just to scare him?  
  
*Now they dress up in costumes and try to frighten people into giving them candy.* Remembering his earlier conversation with Lennier, the thought occurred to him briefly that perhaps some of the humans had decided to get into the spirit of this Day of the Dead by bringing in some of their own traditions. *They go around wearing masks and yell 'boo' at each other.* The idea of trying to placate Cartagia's restless ghost by offering him candy was the crowning touch on a night that transcended the limits of horror and absurdity, and he had to supress a slightly hysterical giggle. Maybe he really was going crazy.  
  
A hiss of static startled him from the com unit, and the infuriatingly calm voice of a human female informed him that the call was out of range.  
  
"Out of *range*?" Once, several years ago, Lennier had somehow gotten his hands on an entertainment tape from Earth, one of what the humans fondly called "horror movies". The objective, apparently, was to frighten yourself and your friends as badly as possible, so it was necessary to find the scariest movie possible and watch it at night, in the dark. The story had been about strange invisible beings who roamed an old house, causing havoc for the family  
  
trying to live there by imitating the voices of lost loved ones, and making it seem as if ordinary household appliances had turned evil and were spontaneously malfunctioning in the worst ways possible. Vir had been more confused than frightened at the time. Tonight, though, he was beginning to wonder if he wasn't caught in just such a tale. "Run diagnostic."  
  
"Commencing . . ."  
  
"It's working perfectly, you know." Cartagia sounded insufferably smug.  
  
"When did you become a mechanic?" Ordinarly Vir would never snap that way at anyone, much less an Emperor, even a dead one.  
  
"You can save him, you know."  
  
Vir turned abruptly, staring at his guest. Trying to tell himself that he didn't believe any of this for a moment. It wasn't easy. In the last few months, it seemed like he spent practically every free moment worrying about Londo. Since it came out that Londo was next in line for the throne, it was like someone had painted a big red target on his friend's back. Or at least, that was how it felt to Vir sometimes. In between his nightmares about Cartagia, and Morden, and the war, and the Vorlons, he still dreamed of seeing that liner explode just outside the station. He'd been in the sanctuary at the time, and it had been several hours before he'd found out Londo wasn't on the ship when it blew. Add to that the fact that his recent near-fatal heart attack had done *nothing* to impress on Londo the need to adopt a healthier lifestyle--in spite of Vir's best efforts--and Vir was often amazed that his friend was still alive.  
  
Londo's vague comments, on his return from his last visit to Centauri Prime, about "something terribly wrong" at the royal court hadn't helped him relax any. And the look in Londo's eyes at the mere mention of his upcoming inauguration made it clear he suspected something unpleasant waited for him on that day.  
  
"Go to him first thing tomorrow morning," Cartagia went on. "I'm sure you can find a way to slip something into his drink. Or you could just stab him, if you don't care about messing up the carpet." Vir's eyes slowly widened. "They say it's easier after the first time. And you're the last person he'd suspect."  
  
"I'm not listening to this."  
  
There was a sudden, tinkling crash as Cartagia flung his empty glass, crystal fragments shattering against the wall inches from Vir's head. "You *will* listen when I speak to you, you . . . you ignorant . . ." Vir's mouth hung open as he sputtered furiously, finally striking the arm of the couch in frustration when a suitably strong insult did not come to mind.  
  
He took another long drink from the bottle before forcing himself to face the Emperor. "You know," he began shakily, "if you came back to try to--to torment my conscience, to make me remember how I killed you . . ." He trailed off, drawing a deep breath before finishing, ". . . this conversation has only reminded me how glad I am you're dead."  
  
It didn't sound as brave as he'd hoped, and Cartagia burst into helpless giggles, a hysterical sound that made him cringe, like fingernails scraping a blackboard. "Why is that? Because I'm a murderer? Because I have the blood of millions on my hands?" He held his hands out, spotless, smooth, long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. "Because I helped precipitate the Shadow war, and nearly led our people to destruction?" He cocked his head with a curious expression. "So tell me again why you're so upset over killing Mollari?"  
  
Beneath the cold fear that numbed his mind, Vir felt the first stirrings of anger. "Londo isn't like that anymore."  
  
"And that's why you serve him? You think he's changed?" Cartagia raised one eyebrow. "What if he hasn't? What if I told you the Centauri will stretch forth their hand once again under his reign, rebuild their fleet to conquer the stars?"  
  
"I think I know Londo Mollari better than you," Vir said coldly. "Perhaps," Cartagia admitted. "But being dead does give me a certain advantage."  
  
Vir felt a sudden chill run through him. "Londo would have died to save our people. You were ready to see all Centauri Prime burn."  
  
"Oh, Centauri Prime will burn." He dabbed delicately at his lips with his handkerchief. "It was Sheridan who saved her from the Vorlons, you know. All you two did, all for nothing, did you know that? It's all so beautifully tragic." Sinking back onto the couch, he regarded Vir for a long moment. "And then we have you. Such a pathetic little creature, to have the fates of so many resting in your hands. I doubt you'll ever appreciate the irony of it, though. I never would have come close to realizing my destiny without Mollari and Refa. The war, the occupation of Narn . . . I let others take care of that. Refa could handle those details reasonably well, and I had other things to occupy my time. It wasn't until after his death that I was forced to oversee matters  
  
personally, or those incompetent imbeciles in the Centaurum would have ruined everything we had built." He sniffed disdainfully. "And you--you poor, confused little creature. You served Mollari through the whole war, and all the messy details in the aftermath, when I was little more than a figurehead. And then you killed *me*, while the one who started all this still has your undying loyalty." Crossing his legs, he chuckled softly. "Tell me, Cotto, what have I done that Mollari hasn't?"  
  
A brief flare of anger faded to sad resignation, and Vir shook his head. He'd been asked the same question before, a thousand times. Not out loud, not in words, but he could see it in their eyes. Nearly everyone on this station, at one time or another, had hated and distrusted the Centauri. And while no one--except possibly G'Kar--knew the full extent of Londo's nvolvement in the war, they all saw him as the personification of all that was wrong with the  
  
Centauri. He was all their ambition, their ruthlessness. While Vir was the likeable fool, the one no one took seriously, to be pitied for his naivete and his clumsiness. But they all recognized him as someone basically decent, and they all knew he hated what his people had done to the Narn. He'd never been able to hide his feelings the way Londo did.  
  
Why do you stay here? Why do you work for him? The questions were there in their eyes, lurking behind every word they said to him, every casual meeting or official conversation. Why don't you go against them, do something to help? Only Lennier had ever had the courage to say these things to his face, to give voice to what everyone was thinking. He'd been trying to help, of course. Lennier would never intentionally give offense to anyone. And he had no idea how vir felt when everyone implied that he stayed at Londo's side simply because he was too afraid to stand up to him.  
  
None of them did. None of them ever understood. Even Lennier, who he still considered a friend, couldn't understand. He'd tried to defend his mentor, making excuses he didn't really believe, offering explanations that sounded hollow even to him. He'd known what Londo was doing was wrong, and his stuttering justifications had done nothing to help his friend, or to make anyone else understand why he stayed at Londo's side when he didn't really understand it himself. All he'd succeeded in doing was convincing everyone that he was either stupid or blinded by misguided patriotism, or both. It had taken him a long time, and a lot of painful soul-searching, to accept two hard truths.  
  
He could never justify the things Londo had done.  
  
And he could never abandon him.  
  
Those two truths could only be reconciled by one word. And that was nothing Vir could ever explain to someone who didn't already understand. Even Lennier never had, not truly, although they both respected each other enough to remain friends in spite of it.  
  
And if Lennier couldn't understand, how in the Great Maker's name was he supposed to explain it to Cartagia? "You're asking me to explain the concept of love and loyalty to someone who's never been capable of either." His voice was tired, but there was a strength there that surprised him, and a touch of anger, too. He was tired of backing down, and he was tired of looking like a fool. And there was no way he was going to sit here all night and debate moral philosophy with Emperor  
  
Cartagia. "I don't have to explain myself to you, and I don't have to explain Londo, either. And if that's what you came here for, you may as well leave now."  
  
The Emperor regarded him for a long moment. "Are you proud of what you did?" he asked finally, his tone level but his eyes hard as diamonds. "Do you think you were brave? You think you were strong, you think you saved Centauri Prime? And now you can go and live happily  
  
ever after, or however that quaint little human phrase goes?" He sniffed. "Oh, I'm sorry to destroy your happy little fantasy world. You are a murderer, Vir. You can't do something like this and expect to go back to the way you were before. There will be far more blood on your hands before you are finished."  
  
These words were nothing he hadn't heard before in his dreams. Even so, the temperature in the room seemed to drop precipitously. "Why should I believe you?"  
  
"Believe whatever you want." Cartagia shrugged. "Believe whatever makes you feel better. It won't change anything." He sprang to his feet again, resting one hand on Vir's shoulder. His hand felt warm, but all the same a violent shiver went through Vir at the touch. "Londo Mollari *will* die at the hands of a friend," he said. "More than a friend, someone he trusts absolutely. I have seen it."  
  
He clapped his hands, bursting into hysterical, slightly drunken laughter. It was a sound that made Vir want to back away as fast as he could, retreat into his bedroom and close the door and not come out for a week. Instead he stood, frozen, watching as the young Emperor straightened up, watching him expectantly. "I must say, Cotto, I am disappointed. I expected at least some acknowledgement of the honor I am paying you. Sometimes I don't know why I bother." He turned around, took two light strides toward the door, then turned. "Tell me, do they still sing of me in the temples? Do they mourn me in the palace?"  
  
Vir's throat seemed to have closed up, and it was a second or two before he could answer. "I don't think anyone mourns you on Centauri Prime."  
  
"Ungrateful filth." The Emperor waved his handkerchief at him in disgust. "Ah well. They will have plenty to mourn, soon enough."  
  
Vir had never been so happy to hear the door swoosh open. He let his eyes close, and didn't open them again until he heard it close.  
  
He was alone.  
  
And that was when his legs flatly refused to support him any longer, and he sat down abruptly on the floor, both hearts beating frantically. The funny red light was still there, but there was no sign of Cartagia, if he had ever been there.  
  
Reaching toward the table, he picked up the bottle of brivari. Someone must have put something weird in it, to make him see things like that. He took another long drink, then set the bottle down on the floor beside him.  
  
It was a few seconds before he noticed the shards of crystal glittering on the floor by his hand. The remains of a glass, still stained with a red liquid that looked uncomfortably like blood.  
  
And he knew there wasn't enough brivari on the station to let him sleep peacefully tonight. 


End file.
